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Each year I build a special connection with one of my classes. The class is well-behaved and their good behavior allows us to have more fun in the room. I am less strict, tell more jokes, tell more stories, and get to know the kids more. The result is that I build closer relationships with many of those kids. This year it was my 2nd period.

Last week I read them an entry from Freedom Writers. It was written by boy who was evicted from his apartment during the summer, but despite all his family problems gained some peace at the idea of returning to his English class from the year before. I usually cry when I read it. I told the kids that. As I was reading the kids were completely silent, not even a stir.

“While kids were having fun enjoying the summer, I was packing my clothes and belongings into boxes and wondering where we were going to end up. We had no family to lean on… School. Why bother going to school? What’s the use of going if I don’t have a place to live? When my friends ask how my summer was, what am I going to say?”

I was tearing up, but managed not to cry this time. The room was still silent as I finished the passage.

“The bus stops in front of the school. My stomach feels like it’s tightening into a tiny little ball. I feel like throwing up. I keep thinking that I’ll get laughed at the minute I step off the bus. Instead, I’m greeted by a couple of my friends who were in my English class last year. At that point, it hits me. Ms. Gruwell, my crazy English teacher from last year, is really the only person that made me think of hope for my future. Talking with my friends about our English class and the adventures we had the year before, I began to feel better.

I receive my class schedule and the first teacher on the list is Ms. Gruwell in Room 203. I walk in the room and I feel as though all the problems in my life are not important anymore. I am home.”

They remained silent for a moment. I think the class could feel my love for them as I read the story of this high school student. As I was formulating my thoughts I saw Tim’s hand go up in the back of the class volunteering to be the first one to break the silence.

“Yeah… Tim.”

“Can I go to bathroom?”